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I freely admit that this is below my usual standards — both in concept and in execution. But I couldn’t help myself. It made me laugh. Perhaps it will make you laugh as well.

Those viking horns apparently symbolize my intent to write a novel in the month of November. And while I may not be as skilled as the literary master of symbolism who devised that logo, I do, indeed, intend to participate in National Novel Writing Month.

You may know this event as “NaNoWriMo.” I have a hard time with this abbreviation — not only because I mistrust shortened forms of things anyway (does the youth of today actually refer to pizza as “za” now? TV wants me to believe they do), but because every time I see it, I think of Gerardo’s 1991 album, Mo Ritmo. You remember Gerardo, don’t you? He produced this moving piece of now-timeless American poetry:

Rico.

Suave.

So, while I respect and admire the spirit of the event, I will not be using its chosen abbreviation. I simply can’t concentrate with that song and that bandana in my head. I think you understand why.

The novel in question has been brewing in my head and in a spiral notebook since somewhere around my sophomore year of high school. I finally began seriously outlining it in 2001, following the publication of Fish Stories. It was my hope to get another book out there in relatively short order, but I was overtaken by world events. See, this one’s pretty strong with the criticism of politics and government, and in that weird period just following 9-11, that felt wrong somehow. So I put the notes away and turned to other things.

Earlier this year, as I wrapped up a number of long-running projects more or less at the same time, I found myself struggling to decide what came next. I wanted to get back on the novel (for some reason, it no longer feels wrong to criticize politics and government. Go figure.), but I’d built up the importance in my head so much that I was scared to go anywhere near it. This was meant to be my magnum opus — the crowning achievement of my life so far, and the culmination of everything I’ve learned about comedy, prose writing and characterization by way of my other projects.

But then I came to my senses and realized that the longer I waited, the more intimidating the thing was going to be. So I’ve spent the last three weeks picking up where I left off in my notes, and beginning an incredibly detailed outline. By November 1, I should have the story basically written, short of actually translating my outline into a pleasing and unmuddled novel. National Novel Writing Month will then help motivate me to do that part of it, and get a serviceable first draft finished before the end of the year.

I have even bigger plans for this thing after that, but I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself. All you need to know is, I’ve been planning a novel for a considerable length of time and in a few weeks I will start writing it. Oh, and you will most likely have the opportunity to experience an early draft of the story if you so choose.

I will provide regular updates regarding my word count when the project begins. It’s possible some other pursuits may be neglected during this period of intense focus, but I’m trying my best to prevent that. I’m something like 5 weeks ahead with my Transformers reviews, so even if I don’t manage to finish one during the entirety of November, I think there’s enough buffer to cover my ass.

This is the biggest and scariest thing I’ve ever done. Believe it or not, I’ve never written anything with this much preparation before — most everything I do is improvised first, then improved later. The concept of writing to an outline is a new and frightening one to me, but I think I’m ready. I think I may actually be able to write a novel like a real grownup. Albeit a grownup wearing symbolic viking horns. Wish me luck.

Adjacent to my apartment complex is a bowling alley.

Actually, they call it a casino. I guess it’s owned by Indians. I’m not really sure how that works, but those things seem to be all over the place around here. As far as I can tell, it’s a bowling alley on a normal street corner, but they call it a casino on account of some card tables upstairs. I’ve been to Vegas and I’ve been to Atlantic City, and this joint does not fit my standard definition of “casino.” I mean, there’s nary a blinking light or plentiful buffet to be found. But I’ll come back to that place in a minute.

Since moving to Seattle, I have attempted to get myself in shape by riding my bicycle. The city, after all, has a reputation for being very bike-friendly, and since we don’t have the humidity or sinus-crushing pollen that kept me from venturing outdoors back on the east coast, I figured I’d give it a shot.

What many people don’t realize — okay, I don’t know how many people don’t, but I didn’t — is that Seattle is in the mountains. It’s very hilly here. So while there may be better accomodations for bikes on the roads and in the many public parks, the fact is that you have to be pretty serious about biking to take advantage of it. By that, I mean you have to be able to handle incredibly steep hills without collapsing in a sweaty, wheezing heap of blubber. I’m not quite there yet. Maybe I can get there someday, but that day is not today.

My grandmother actually got me a pretty nice bike rack for Christmas a couple of years ago, but the best efforts of me and at least three other people (one of whom holds a Masters degree in Automotive Bike Rack Studies from MIT) were unable to get the thing attached safely to my vehicle. So carting the thing to a flat area also doesn’t seem to be an option at this point, unless I want to disassemble and reassemble the thing each morning, like a Marine would do with his rifle. Again, maybe someday I’ll be ready for that level of commitment. But I’m still just at the beginner phase here, like I said.

So that brings me back to this bowling alley. Casino. Whatever.

I noticed that they had a nice, flat parking lot that tended to be empty in the early hours of the morning. I took my car over and drove a complete circle and discovered that it’s exactly a tenth of a mile around — perfect for measured laps on the ol’ $50 Target bike. So, following a recent trip back home to Maryland (during which my family not-very-graciously informed me that I was approaching Orson Welles levels of girth), I felt sufficiently shamed into finally beginning an exercise regimen. I headed to the parking lot on a mostly-daily basis and I started small, with 10 laps (a mile).

I eventually worked myself up to 20 laps before I got distracted and stopped. It’s not that it was too hard, it’s just that I distract easily. I must have seen a shiny object. Or, more likely, it rained one morning, breaking my routine and causing me to direct my attention elsewhere, ultimately forgetting I even had one in the first place. Hey, it’s not easy living inside this skull, all right?

A month or so passes and I realize I need to get back on it. So I climb on the bike and head for the parking lot…

…only to find that the gap in the fence that used to allow me access to it has now been blocked with a concrete post. Pedestrians can still navigate their way around, but it’s no go for the likes of me and my bicycle.

There must be some reason why they chose to put this post there, and I’m trying really hard to think of one that doesn’t point to them being jerks who want me to fail. Or at least, you know, not wanting me to lurk around their parking lot. Because, you know, the parking lot of a bowling alley/casino is a hopping place at 7AM. I might scare away customers.

The only other thing that really makes sense is Red Man’s Revenge. I encroached on their land and their natural cultural instinct was to retaliate. And you know, I think I could probably live with that explanation, except for the fact that every time I’ve stuck my head into Nameless Casino, it’s been populated entirely with elderly Russians. So, I suppose the real question is: why does the Russian mob want me to stay fat? Who benefits?